Gospel Story Finder

While serving as a bishop, I witnessed the blessings of the Atonement in the lives of Church members who committed serious transgressions. As a judge in Israel, I listened to their confessions and, when needed, placed restrictions upon them, such as not partaking of the sacrament for a time.
A young single adult in our ward was dating a young woman. They allowed their affections to get out of control. He came to me for counsel and help. Based on what was confessed and the impressions of the Spirit to me, among other things, he was not permitted to partake of the sacrament for a time. We met regularly to ensure that repentance had happened, and after an appropriate time I authorized him to again partake of the sacrament.
As I sat on the stand in that sacrament meeting, my eyes were drawn to him as he now partook of the sacrament worthily. I witnessed arms of mercy, love, and safety encircling him as the healing of the Atonement warmed his soul and lifted his load, resulting in the promised forgiveness, peace, and happiness.

Before my Cub Scout pack left for day camp, we said a prayer that we would be safe on the drive. About halfway there, a big truck moved into our lane without signaling. We got sideswiped! I felt a big bump and heard a loud honk, but our leader was able to stop the car safely on the side of the road. We were late for day camp, but no one was hurt. I was really glad we said a prayer before we left.Larsen O., age 8, Minnesota

When I returned as a student, I also returned to work at the Polynesian Cultural Center. Since our chapels have cultural centers, it is perhaps not surprising that we have a Polynesian Cultural Center, yet the PCC is unique in all the Church and a special place – a miracle in many ways.

It was the right place at the right time for me. My first job at PCC was in the brass band, and I worked there before and after my mission and was able to reunite with many friends and play with the brass band last month as part of the 50th anniversary. I also worked briefly in the Marquesas Village, but PCC is especially significant to me because I met my wife on the road to the back stage area of the Night Show. I like to think that we actually first met in the back stage area of our lives, the pre-existence, but in this life, I first met my wife on the road to the theater.

I like to tell my students this story; it is very symbolic of our courtship. I remember the first time I saw her. She was new at the Night Show and in the Hawaii, Maori, and Tahitian sections. I had come back to the show but had moved to the other sections: Tonga, Fiji, and Samoa. So the first time I saw her, we were both new and back stage in front of the mirrors, doing the fittings for our new costumes. She was looking pretty in her Hawaiian outfit, and I thought I was looking pretty good in the Tongan outfit. She never noticed me, but I noticed her. I actually had the kailao (carved and painted club) and was practicing one of the moves – spinning the kailao and running in a circle. There’s some symbolism there –I was running in circles, and she never seemed to notice me.

For my last few nights at the Night Show, somehow they allowed me to do the fire walk. This of course is where the dancers walk through the fire boards, play with the fire, and eventually put the fire out with the ti leaf skirts. This is also symbolic – after running in circles and not being noticed, when my wife finally did notice me, it was like walking through fire to get through to her.

I suppose it is true that nothing that is worthwhile is easy, but she could have made things a little easier. In the end, she did come around.

When we worked at PCC, we never actually danced together with each other. So full circle, for the 50th anniversary, we were able to learn the couples hula and actually dance with each other. We were able to perform for our family and children. When you think about it, that is what the dance of life is about: choreographing our lives to the music of the gospel and celebrating together across generations.

Nineteen-year-old Zeb Jacobs was out on the Mormon Trail because President Brigham Young knew that teenagers like to drive. The prophet hired some older boys, including Zeb, to drive his wagons and carriages in Salt Lake City. But then, early in 1861, Brigham wanted to try a new way to transport immigrants across the plains. He decided to send out “down-and-back” wagon trains—“down” from Utah to Florence, Nebraska, to pick up passengers and bring them “back” to Utah. Needing drivers for the Utah wagons he called Zeb and other “Utah Boys” on down-and-back missions for spring and summer.

Zeb could handle wagons and teams, but he also had skills with a pen. During his down-and-back trip he penned a diary, one of the best trail diaries kept in 1861 and one of the best LDS teenage diaries ever written. Like a camera using words instead of film, his diary recorded some trail pictures, mostly fun pictures that teenagers enjoy. Let’s look in his diary and pick out some word pictures that show what it was like being a teenage driver on the Mormon Trail.

Driving one of the 40 wagons in the Joseph W. Young wagon train, Zeb rolled out of Salt Lake City around April 23, 1861. Three other trains left too, making 200 wagons total heading east that week.

The Utah trains did not travel empty. “In my wagon,” Zeb wrote, “I had a couple of ladies to take East; they are going to Boston.” But his delight in escorting the ladies was short-lived. A westbound company brought news from “the States” that civil war had broken out, so the ladies decided to return to Utah with that company.

Besides passengers, the Utah wagons were stuffed to their bows and covers with flour and supplies to be dropped off at various stops on the “down” trip for use on the “back” trip.

The trail seemed new to Zeb, who was only six when he traveled it to Utah. So, like a tourist, he watched for famous landmarks along the trail. At one, Devil’s Gate in Wyoming, he examined the spot where the snowbound handcart companies holed up in November 1856. Those pioneers had left behind much of their baggage and buried many prized possessions until someone from Utah could pick them up. According to Zeb, he and the Utah Boys “dug out a piano, and several sacks of salt, which had been cached 4 years ago. They were not damaged in the least.”

In May and June he noticed much traffic on the trail. On June 8 his diary noted that Zeb “met 205 emigrant teams bound for California.” Two weeks later he wrote that they passed a large band of Sioux Indians “going to fight the Pawnees.”

For eight weeks Zeb guided wagon and team eastward. Then in late June he parked his wagon in the Joseph W. Young train’s campground about two miles northwest of Florence, Nebraska. For the next two weeks Zeb was a taxi driver, taking his wagon into Florence, picking up passengers for the Young train, and shuttling them to the campground. July 5 was a typical taxi day for him: “I left camp and went to Florence, after a load of Saints. The day was very warm, and I was very tired after my day’s work.” Missouri River steamers unloaded company after company of Saints at the giant LDS campground in Florence, congesting it; “emigrants stowed away in every nook and corner,” is how Zeb described it.

On July 11 Zeb and his train pulled out and started the “back” part of the trip, 1,000 miles to Utah.

Some immigrants were troubled by the rough-looking, rough-talking Utah Boys. According to Englishman William Yates, another diarist on the trail that year, the boys looked and acted like poorly educated frontiersmen. Brother Yates, however, was fooled by appearances, for his own diary is notches below the quality of the one kept by Utah Boy Zeb Jacobs.

The immigrants learned quickly to appreciate the boys’ abilities with oxen and wagons. And they liked to see the Utah Boys do much of the wagon trains’ dirty work. Zeb and the others had to hunt for firewood and buffalo chips, build fires, track down missing cattle, set up and break camps, haul water, and spend hours in rivers helping wagons to cross. At Loup Fork crossing, for example, Zeb “had the pleasure of getting a dunking several times, helping the wagons over.” Near Fort Laramie he wrote: “I was in the water most of the afternoon helping the teams across. The weather was cold.” The boys seemed to enjoy showing off their expertise and strength, however, especially when teenage girls were watching.

The boys’ main assignment was caring for cattle and wagons—hitching, unhitching, feeding, shoeing, corralling, guarding, and mending harnesses. This work provided Zeb with some unexpected adventures. One day, according to his diary, “I was helping to shoe an ox, and witnessed the mosquitoes and horse flies driving off the horses and cattle, and in gathering the animals we kept what is called the dog-trot for about a mile. I finally caught a horse and jumped on him, and with considerable difficulty I succeeded in getting the animals back to camp.”

One night the “mules and horses took a notion they would go and accordingly they went.” The boys started in pursuit “but the night was so dark that we had to take the advantage of the lightning to tell us which way we were going.” When Zeb saw something move in the distance he tried to run to it. “At last I got lost in a swamp but managed, after much trouble, to get back to camp without finding the animals.” Next morning, on foot, the boys found the animals more than nine miles from the camp.

One night Zeb let the terrain keep the cattle from wandering: “Being on guard, I took the mules up a large ravine and stayed until midnight, then Bro. Henry Parker relieved me.”

For teenagers life can never be all hard work. The Utah Boys had fun on the trail too. One day they “caught a string of fish.” Another time they “had a family swim in the Platte.” One morning Zeb and one of the men “crossed the river and found plenty of chokecherries and currants. After satisfying our own appetites we filled our hats and pockets.” In recrossing the river “we got ducked several times, but we hung on to the fruit.” Back at camp they shared the berries and “finding breakfast ready, we ate heartily.”

On July 24, Pioneer Day, the Utah Boys decided to help the campers celebrate. With good-humored exaggeration Zeb wrote of their fun:

“We were up at daylight and called out the ‘National Guard’ [the boys] which fired a volley of musketry, and any kind of guns that were handy. Then the ‘Martial Band’ struck up ‘Hail Columbia’ (the band was composed of tin pails, pans, bake-kettle lids, bells, and various instruments of music); then there was another volley by the Guard; and at sunrise, the firing of cannon (which was about 3 inches in length), and concluded the morning performance with an Indian jig.”

That night the boys held a “grand ball” at the “Bachelors Hall,” meaning a square dance in front of their tents.

August 17 provided one of the highlights of the boys’ fun on the trail. According to Zeb: “As we woke up in the morning all hands began laughing at each other, as our faces were besmeared with tar and wagon grease. Some of the boys from the other camp had paid us a visit and left their compliments upon our faces.”

Humor also helped Zeb describe how the mosquitoes plagued them at swampy stretches of the trail. “Some of us went in the river to bathe,” he wrote once, “but we found the mosquitoes there ahead of us. They very soon got rid of us.” Another evening he said the boys were “entertained with a large and renowned band of minstrels (mosquitoes); they kept us dancing all night.”

On August 30, in the middle of Wyoming, the teenage driver received a special honor. Captain Joseph W. Young needed to rush ahead of his train to catch up with another wagon company, so he selected Zeb to drive him in a wagon pulled by mules. (Mules travel much faster than oxen.) Zeb drove as fast as he could for three days and then Captain Young, needing to travel even faster, hailed a passing stagecoach, boarded it, and left Zeb to travel alone.

Zeb liked the fast mule team which moved him 20 to 45 miles a day, double what wagon trains could cover. But driving alone on the hot, dusty trail and camping by himself at night had its lonely moments. So he enjoyed catching up to other travelers and visiting with them. Late on September 3 he overtook the Joseph Horne train “where I joined the people in that camp in a dance.” An injured man in the camp needed to be hurried to Salt Lake, so Richard Horne joined Zeb as a traveling companion, “and I was very glad of his company,” Zeb confessed.

Zeb, the teenage driver, put his mule-pulled wagon and injured passenger into Salt Lake City in near record time, arriving on September 7 at breakfast time. He beat his Joseph W. Young wagon train there by 16 days. In total, down and back, Zeb had been on the trail for 18 weeks.

It is not known if Zeb kept any diaries after 1861. He made down-and-back trips again in 1862 and 1863. In 1866, at age 24, he married. He served in the Blackhawk War as a sergeant in the cavalry. By career he became a railroad man, working as a popular conductor on the Utah Central Railroad. Late in life he became a guard at the state penitentiary. He remained a lifelong faithful Latter-day Saint.

“John, I can see it’s time I tell you the story.” Grandpa reached over to shut the engine off. “When your dad was ready to go on a mission, almost twenty-five years ago now, your grandmother and I couldn’t afford to send him. We’d always tried our best to live the gospel, and we knew we could depend on the Lord, so we prayed that He would help us make enough money to send our boy on a mission.”
“Were your prayers answered, Grandpa?”
“Yes, John. Heavenly Father answered them in a surprising way. This little piece of land came up for sale, and your grandma and I felt inspired to buy it. It was a small field, nothing to rave about. But we had read in the scriptures that from small things great blessings come. So Grandma and I hoped that if we remained faithful and hard-working, the Lord might see fit to turn this small field into a great blessing.”
“Did you get your blessing, Grandpa?” John asked.
“Did we ever!” Grandpa answered, beaming. “We received enough money from our first crop to send your dad on his mission, and for as long as he was serving in England, we had a bumper crop. When he came home from England, the field’s production returned to normal, but as each of our three sons served missions, it thrived again. To this day, Grandma and I call it our mission field. Why, this very field is helping support Mark on his mission right now.” Grandpa smiled, giving John’s shoulder a healthy squeeze.

Mom put bricks in the oven and then wrapped them in blankets so our feet would stay warm as we traveled in our car without a heater. It was 1935, and we were making the 60-mile (96 km) drive from Salt Lake City to Payson, Utah, to visit my grandparents in early December. The snow was falling lightly around us and swirled in what looked like little tornadoes on the road ahead. My big brother, Fred, and I were bundled in heavy coats and itchy wool socks and mufflers. The drive seemed endless to me as a seven-year-old.
We made this trip every December. The Christmas season didn’t really start until we were in Grandma and Grandpa Tanner’s warm kitchen making popcorn balls. Grandpa would stoke up the fire, and Grandma would fill a wire basket with popcorn and shake it vigorously over the fire until it filled with puffy, white corn. Then Grandma would pour hot honey butter over the popcorn in a big cast-iron kettle and mix in peanuts. When the mixture cooled, we would dig in with our butter-covered hands and make festive balls to share with family and friends.
This Christmas, however, would be different. Usually Fred and I rode in the backseat, but this year we were wedged between my parents on the bench seat up front. A small white coffin carrying the body of my one-year-old brother, Gerold, took up the backseat. A case of measles had turned into pneumonia and snuffed out his young life. Earlier we had gone to the mortuary to pick up the small wooden coffin.
As we made the two-hour journey, Dad led us in singing Christmas songs. Mom and Dad harmonized, and the beautiful music comforted us as we grieved the loss of our baby.
When we got to Grandpa’s house, the usually jovial crowd of family and relatives was waiting solemnly. The coffin was taken from the backseat and brought into Grandma’s spotless parlor. My grandparents’ bishop spoke a few kind words, and then we were back in the car to ride to the cemetery, where we all wept as this precious little boy was laid in the frozen ground.
Christmas did come. The fire was stoked, the popcorn was popped, and the festive popcorn balls were delivered on Grandpa’s horse-drawn sleigh. There was sadness that day but also a resonant peace as I listened to my faithful grandparents reading the story of Christ’s birth.
My grandparents had been born of pioneer parents who had laid many babies in the ground. As our family mourned our loss, we turned to where our ancestors had turned—to the Son of God and His words. I remembered the Christmas story with a different heart that year, for it was because of the baby born in a manger that the baby we had laid in the ground would rise again and be ours.
Many decades have passed since then, but each Christmas I still pour honey butter over popcorn, mix in peanuts, shape the mixture into balls, and remember.

Whenever I heard the words “missionary work,” I used to think of giving away a Book of Mormon. While I had previously given away copies of the Book of Mormon, none of the people I gave them to seemed interested. But I didn’t know that for the past year and a half, I have been a missionary just by being who I am and sticking to my standards.
It began on the first day of school one year. I had arrived at my first class early, and so I sat down at a desk in the middle of the classroom. A girl named Alicia* came in and sat in the far back. Since I was alone, I invited her to sit with me. She had just moved from Mexico over the summer, so she didn’t have any friends yet. I was glad we had most of our classes together. That’s how we became friends.
But our lives were very different. Alicia wore outfits that differed from my standards and used bad language. In her old school, she talked back to her teachers, and grades weren’t important to her. She had a bad family life and would sneak out and go to parties.
As we have become good friends, I have noticed a good change in her. She no longer wears inappropriate clothing. She is careful to not use bad language. She has improved her grades, even competing for the highest scores. Her family life is getting a lot better too. She never sneaks out anymore or goes to bad parties.
We talk about her changes and improvements. Alicia told me that one night her boyfriend came over and wanted her to break the law of chastity. She was about to give in when she saw in her mind a flashback of all the improvements she’s made and how proud she is of herself. She wasn’t willing to throw it all away. So she said no and broke up with him. That was the greatest thing for me to hear from her, and I am so proud of her.
Missionary work truly can occur by example as we live the gospel of Jesus Christ.

When I was first called as a General Authority, I was serving as an assistant administrator of seminaries and institutes and as a member of the administrative council of BYU. They were kind enough to have a dinner to see me off with Elder Marion G. Romney, representing the board of education, as the speaker.

President William E. Berrett made a very brief response in which he said that Brother Tuttle (who by then was one of the Seventy) and I had something of a motto. It was “Follow the Brethren.” Brother Romney responded with some humor that he was glad for that motto since I already had been given an assignment to assist him. “Now I know that Brother Packer will do everything I tell him to do.”

I was asked to respond. I did not know Brother Romney very well at that time or I should not have said what I did. Nevertheless, I lived to learn that the very intimate relationship I had with him in years to come began that night when I said, “Brother Romney misunderstood! Our motto was ‘Follow the Brethren,’ not ‘Follow the Brother.’” He drew close to me thereafter because I had shown respect for a principle that was precious to him. There is only one “Brother” to follow, and that is our Prophet President. But even he does not act alone, for he has counselors.

And I have seen it in young fathers trying to provide for their families. In that regard I once terrifyingly saw it in myself. At one point in our married life when financial fears collided with staggering fatigue, I took a psychic blow that was as unanticipated as it was real. With the grace of God and the love of my family, I kept functioning and kept working, but even after all these years I continue to feel a deep sympathy for others more chronically or more deeply afflicted with such gloom than I was. In any case we have all taken courage from those who, in the words of the Prophet Joseph, “search[ed] … and contemplate[d] the darkest abyss” and persevered through it—not the least of whom were Abraham Lincoln, Winston Churchill, and Elder George Albert Smith, the latter being one of the most gentle and Christlike men of our dispensation, who battled recurring depression for some years before later becoming the universally beloved eighth prophet and President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

In the weeks leading up to my marriage and temple sealing, I started getting a little nervous about all the things I needed to do before I started my new family. Despite all the joy of that moment, I felt stressed about organizing our new routine, getting our finances in order, finding storage for our belongings, and all my new responsibilities as a wife. I wanted to make sure we started off our marriage the right way by making room in our activities for important things like keeping the commandments and spending time together as husband and wife in spite of our busy lives.
As the wedding day came closer, I was surprised by a series of nightmares involving all sorts of troubles that could affect a family. Because I come from a loving but afflicted family, threatened by constant and intense arguments and broken hearts, the bad dreams affected me more than they should have. So one night, after several others like it, I woke up sweating and decided to follow the advice that Sister Neill F. Marriott, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, gave in her talk “Yielding Our Hearts to God” (Liahona, Nov. 2015, 30–32). I closed my eyes and prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, what can I do to keep these bad things away from my family?”
The answer hit me as fast and as strongly as if someone had opened a door into my head and put the thought there. The still, small voice prompted me, “Just do what you are supposed to do. Be faithful in each step.” The Spirit whispered some specific counsel, and I felt that if I did those things, everything would be fine.
I smiled and felt my chest filled with warmth. All the worries were suddenly forgotten, because I knew it was true. I had felt the Holy Ghost before, but never as strong as I did that night. I felt the love of our Heavenly Father and our Savior surround me, and I knew that the comfort and salvation of my family was as important for Them as it was for me.
As an added assurance, a story from the scriptures came to my memory—the moment that the Lord ordered Nephi to build a ship: “And it came to pass that the Lord spake unto me, saying: Thou shalt construct a ship, after the manner which I shall show thee, that I may carry thy people across these waters” (1 Nephi 17: 8; emphasis added).
Nephi and his family had been in the wilderness for years, enduring all sorts of tribulations. He could have felt afraid of starting a journey across the sea and let his fears become stronger than his faith. But he didn’t. He accepted and obeyed the instructions of God. He had faith that His promises would be fulfilled. The Lord never told Nephi that storms wouldn’t occur or that waves wouldn’t hit the ship. But He told Nephi that if he followed His directions, he would be able to guide his family safely across the ocean to the promised land.
I realized that I had also traveled through a wilderness for many years, but now I was in front of the sea, preparing for a new journey: marriage. I have been called—and I think that is the case for all Latter-day Saint families—to build a ship following God’s instructions.
Once my husband and I got married, troubles did come. I got sick, and we struggled to keep our financial affairs balanced and to put into practice all the good habits we had decided to follow.
But the counsel I had received that night remained in my heart. We tried daily to learn and treasure the word of God in our hearts, to follow the good examples of our dear leaders—including Christ—and to improve our own behavior. I gained a stronger testimony of prayer and truly tasted the Father’s love for us. I started to trust more and fear less. We realized that the difficulties we faced had become steps to improvement. Today our home seems like a little piece of heaven.
We are still in the beginning of our journey, but getting married and starting a family was the best choice I have ever made. My heart is full of joy when I think about the temple ordinance we received and know that it was sealed by God’s authority. The more I understand about the importance of the family in Heavenly Father’s plan and the sacredness of the covenant we made, the more I want to help other families receive the same ordinance.
I learned that we don’t need to worry about what is going to happen, because “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7). We simply need to be obedient, follow the instructions given through the scriptures and the words of modern-day prophets, and ask in prayer for more personal instructions. If we do these things, we can cross the ocean of these last days confident that no matter what kind of trouble hits us, our loved ones will be safe.

“But Mom, I don’t want to go to church today!” Trevor complained. “I want to stay home and play outside. We get a vacation from school, so why can’t we take a vacation from church too?”
Trevor’s mother smiled as she asked, “What do you think would happen if Heavenly Father took a vacation from watching over us and helping us? Besides, you have all the rest of the week to play outside.”
The next day Trevor did play outside. He played long and hard. Late in the afternoon, while he was racing his bicycle with his friends, he turned his head to see how far ahead of them he was. In that instant his bicycle hit a rock, and the next thing Trevor knew, he was in a hospital bed with a big cast on his left leg and a huge bandage on his head.
As Trevor lay there, his leg was held up by a chain and pulley. He couldn’t turn; he could only lie on his back. The doctors told him that he would have to lie that way for at least four weeks! His whole summer was ruined!
To just lie still in the big hospital bed was the hardest work that Trevor had ever done. His mom, dad, and sisters came to visit him every day. They brought books to read and cassette tapes and games that he could play while lying down. This helped, but each day still seemed like forever.
When Sunday came, Trevor knew that his family would go to church and wouldn’t come to see him till late afternoon. Trevor colored in his new coloring book, then read some of his books. Nothing feels right. This is Sunday, and I would be in church if I were home. That would feel right, he told himself.
Trevor thought about his Primary class. They’re probably in Sharing Time right now, singing some of my favorite songs. Maybe they’ll play that Bible story game that Sister Hinton taught us last week. Trevor wondered what Sister Norman’s lesson would be about today. Last week it had been about forgiveness. He really did like the lessons, even though it was hard to sit still sometimes. The more Trevor thought about church, the more he wished that he could be there.
The next week wasn’t any easier for Trevor. He kept thinking about not being able to go to church on Sunday. After lying still for days and days, sitting for three hours in church didn’t seem quite so impossible anymore.
When Sunday came again, the morning seemed to get longer and longer. Trevor looked at the clock on the wall. Sharing Time is just getting over, and everyone will be going to their classes. I bet the lesson’s a good one, Trevor thought sadly.
About ten minutes later Sister Norman appeared in the doorway! “Hello, Trevor. May we come in?” she asked.
“Wow! Yes! Yes!” Trevor shouted happily.
Sister Norman was followed by the other four children in Trevor’s Primary class. Each child carried cards and letters that all the children in Primary had made for Trevor during Sharing Time.
After a few minutes of visiting, Sister Norman said, “Trevor, we all missed you so much that we decided that Primary wasn’t Primary without you, and we decided to bring Primary to you today.”
The children all sat down around the bed while Sister Norman gave her lesson on kindness to others.
All too soon the lesson was over, and it was time for Trevor’s class to go. Before she left, Sister Norman said, “Trevor, if it’s all right with you, till you’re well, we’d like to visit you each week and give you the Primary lesson, just like we have done at the ward.”
“Oh,” Trevor said, “that would be just great! Thank you.”
After his class had left, Trevor thought, I’m glad that Primary doesn’t stop when we’re out of school. And I’m especially glad that Heavenly Father doesn’t take a vacation!

When Ben Pantoja of Santiago, Chile, was six years old, his parents went to a nearby city to buy groceries for the family. After they had gone, Ben’s eight-year-old brother said, “Let’s go get an ice cream cone.”
Now, an ice cream cone for Ben and his little sister Mercedes was a special treat. They asked their brother what they would do for money. He said their father had told him if they wanted a treat he could take the money from the chest where they kept the family budget. Ben knew in his heart that was not the truth, but the anticipation of the ice cream overwhelmed his sense of what was right.
They had their ice cream cone. When their parents returned home, Ben’s mother went to the chest to return the change from their trip to the market and noticed that money was missing. The children were questioned and the truth discovered.
Ben Pantoja made up his mind that night that he would never be dishonest again, that he would never go contrary to what he knew to be right. Today he is one of the Lord’s chosen leaders in South America because he has kept his resolve.
When Ben made the decision that he would never be dishonest, he established a limit he would not break.

After the first area conference in Paris, we traveled to Helsinki, Finland. President Kimball had been going strong now for three days. He was up early every morning, worked a very heavy schedule throughout the day, and then went to bed late at night. His responsibilities were greater than anyone else’s.
His jobs included not only presiding and conducting, but he spoke for long periods of time using a translator. He had held an exhausting press conference and had interviewed and set apart many local Church authorities. We boarded an airplane late in the evening for Helsinki. It was necessary to change planes in Copenhagen, and as we walked through the hallways of the airport, President Kimball carried a travel bag with his suits in it. I had a free hand and walked up and said, “President Kimball, let me carry that.” He turned and said, “No, thank you, I have to have a reason for being here.” He was almost serious in humbly expressing his desire to carry his own weight; he didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. I was impressed with that same beautiful attitude during the entire trip.

Adam Martin, a ward Sunday School president in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, says he appreciates suggestions from the ward council. “The Relief Society president or the elders quorum president will say, ‘We’d like teachers to focus on this,’ so we bring that up in teacher council [meeting],” he says.
When teacher council meetings first started, teachers weren’t sure what to expect, so he extended lots of personal invitations and introduced training materials available at teaching.lds.org. “Now the ball is rolling,” he says. “They know it’s a place to discuss what’s going on.”
One recent meeting focused on following the Spirit. “We talked about preparing well but not worrying about covering everything,” he says. “One sister said she had always felt she needed to talk about every item in her lesson plan. You could see the light go on for her when we talked about following inspiration as you guide a discussion.”

Before going much further, I would like to introduce my topic with a personal experience. When I was about thirteen years of age, we lived on a cattle ranch in Wyoming. It was a glorious experience for a young man who loved the outdoors. In the spring we often had the experience of having a group of heifers that required constant and watchful care. For those of you who do not know what a heifer is, it is a female cow having her first calf. This situation requires that you check on the heifers about every six hours—including getting up in the middle of the night—so that if a heifer is having a difficult time, she can be assisted and the rancher does not lose the mother and/or the calf.

On one occasion, a rather wild heifer was having difficulty and needed our assistance. My mother, father, and I gathered in the field to try and herd the heifer into a smaller corral in which we could help her. At times such herding can be rather challenging, especially when the herding result is not where the heifer wants to go. We were spread out, with my mother on my left and my father on my right. I was in the middle, being the youngest and the fastest.

As we began to crowd the heifer, she bolted to our left in an attempt to pass between my mother and the fence. My mother ran toward the fence to try and turn the heifer back, but I noticed that the angle she was taking was going to allow the heifer to pass. So I took a deeper angle and ran as well.

I saw my mother slip and dive head first like she was trying to steal second base in the World Series. As you can imagine, in a field full of cattle, there are these round, fresh, brownish piles everywhere. My mother most gracefully slid through one and was covered literally from her face to her toes. Naturally, it was quite funny, and I began to laugh. My mother, being the great sport she is, also began to laugh. However, the heifer got past both of us, and that was not very pleasing to my father, who was not laughing.

My father ordered us to get around and turn that heifer back toward the corral. To his demand, my mother wisely replied, looking directly at me, “Come on, Joe. We are going to the house. He can do it himself.”

Well, I had a real dilemma. Follow my father or obey my mother? I made the correct choice. I followed my mother!

One pleasant summer morning in 1986 when my wife, Siou Chin, was preparing to leave for a class, I felt an impression clearly telling me to give her a ride to the bus stop. She had been taking classes at a school for teachers, and the bus stop was seven miles (11 km) away. I didn’t pay much attention to the feeling. Having joined the Church not even one year earlier, I had little idea what the voice of the Holy Ghost felt like.
When Siou Chin was about to leave for the bus stop on her motorcycle, the same feeling came to me again, now more strongly than before, telling me that something would happen if I didn’t give her a ride. I made the terrible mistake of again ignoring the voice.
Ten minutes later, the phone rang. I was so scared I couldn’t answer it. It kept on ringing. Finally I picked it up, and the voice on the line said, “Your wife is in the hospital! Please come immediately.”
When I arrived at the hospital, I recalled the warning and deeply regretted that I hadn’t listened to the Holy Ghost. Siou Chin was in critical condition. She was unconscious. And on top of it all, she was nine months pregnant. A doctor recommended that I send her to a larger hospital in Kaohsiung that had better equipment. After weighing my options I had the impression that I should send her to that hospital without further delay. On the way to the hospital I pleaded with Heavenly Father not only for forgiveness but also that He would save my wife’s life.
An hour and 20 minutes later we arrived at the other hospital. The doctor in the emergency room ordered a CT scan, and after looking at the images, he told me Siou Chin had a skull fracture. I then found out there was no bed available in the hospital. All day long there was nothing I could do but pray for help. At 6:00 that evening I met the sister of a former classmate. She worked at the hospital, and with her help we were finally able to find an empty bed on the ninth floor. Siou Chin was still unconscious and in critical condition.
At 10:00 p.m. it dawned on me that I should ask the missionaries to give my wife a blessing. The missionaries in our branch called the elders in Kaohsiung, and 20 minutes later they arrived. But the doctor refused to allow them into my wife’s room because she had gone into labor, even though she was still in a coma. So I asked the elders to give me a blessing instead of my wife, which they did in a conference room where we would be undisturbed.
By 11:00 p.m. my wife still hadn’t delivered the baby, so the doctor decided to move her to the eighth floor for a cesarean section. Then a miracle happened. Ten minutes after they moved her, she delivered the baby. The delivery went smoothly, and when the nurse handed me the baby, I couldn’t believe my eyes. His features were exactly like the image I had seen in my prayers every night.
Seven days after our son’s birth, Siou Chin finally regained consciousness. But her mind wasn’t clear, and she suffered headaches. Her primary physician recommended that we transfer her to a university hospital for brain surgery. I was overwhelmed and prayed for guidance. After less than three minutes of pondering, I told the doctor I had decided to transfer her to another medical center, even though it meant we would have to pay all the expenses because that center was not eligible for medical coverage. This time I understood that I was being prompted by the Holy Ghost, and I was sure this decision was right.
We checked my wife into the medical center. A medical team that tours Taiwan to investigate unusual cases happened to be visiting this center. A brain surgeon who had just received special training in the United States was with the team that day. After looking at all the information, this doctor announced that my wife didn’t need surgery. He said her situation should improve within one week. I was so relieved to hear those words. I am grateful to the doctor, but most of all, I thank my Heavenly Father who directed me to make the right decision.
Just as the doctor predicted, Siou Chin was better in a week. Even the doctor marveled at how quick her recovery was. I know that with the doctors’ medical skill and with Heavenly Father’s blessings, my wife was able to miraculously survive and is now fully recovered. Our son is now serving full-time in the Taiwan Taichung Mission.

Some years ago a young man I’ll call Jim was in the seventh grade. He was a little taller than the other boys and was doing quite well in basketball and track. However, as the year progressed, the coach of the basketball team began saying to him, “Jim, stay seated. You’re no ball player. You’re too clumsy!” At one game he said, “No, we don’t need you. You stay right there. You can’t run. You can’t shoot the ball. You’re not fast enough.” This continued for a number of months. Finally, Jim began to believe what he was being told about himself. He stopped playing basketball, both at Church and at school. He stopped running. Throughout high school he avoided sports as much as possible. In his first year of college, some athletics were required, but he did as little as possible.
At nineteen, he found himself on a mission in a distant land. There he found that the buses did not stop to let people get on or off. So the missionaries had to learn to do that on the run.
One afternoon Jim and his companion were a block or two from the bus stop when they saw the bus coming. One of them said, “Run, Elder, or we’ll miss our next appointment.” To Jim’s great surprise, he beat his companion to the bus stop. Later that afternoon, Jim purposely arranged a few runs for the bus. He beat his companion each time.
He was amazed, almost disbelieving, because he knew that his companion had received a number of awards for being the fastest runner in his home state. Jim was overcome. Could it be so? They ran again. He won.
Suddenly came the terrible realization to Jim that he had wasted his athletic ability. He could have excelled in athletics, but he had come to believe someone else’s opinion of him. Jim began to seriously question other negative attitudes he had about himself. Perhaps, they, too, were false.
You will recall that Jim discovered his real self in the mission field. Didn’t the Lord teach us that whosoever sought his own life would lose it, and he that lost his life in the service of others would find it? (See Matt. 16:25.) Discover yourself! If you have not yet gone, go on a mission. As you seek to serve the Lord, you, too, will find yourself.

Emily buttoned her coat as she hurried up a hill. On its crest she looked toward the east and saw a beautiful sunrise. Its pink glow lit the great empty prairie.
How far east is England now? wondered Emily. How many miles westward have we journeyed since we left the beloved green hills of home?
“Emily! We’re ready to leave,” called her father.
Slowly Emily went back down the hill. Her feet lifted puffs of dry brown dust as she walked past people whose handcarts were in the rear of the long line. Everyone in the company was ready for another day of travel.
She was glad she didn’t have to pull a handcart all day like most of the men. Some women helped too. Even children and old people helped push the heavy carts up the steep hills and clung to the rear of them to slow them going down steep slopes.
When Emily reached their own handcart, her father was fastening the ropes from the canvas top to the wooden sideboards.
“It’s a good thing you have that red coat,” Father said. “We can see you even from a long way off.”
“You shouldn’t wander so far away by yourself, though, Emily. You could get lost in this wild country,” Mother scolded.
“I’ll be more careful, Mother,” Emily promised.
As the handcarts fell into line, Emily wondered if her parents understood why she walked back every morning to look east. Maybe they aren’t as lonely for our cottage back in England as I am, she decided. Remembering their home in Dorchester with its roof of golden thatched straw and the lilac bush where robins chirped at dawn, made Emily’s throat ache.
The long line of handcarts moved forward away from the rising sun. Mother’s voice broke into Emily’s thoughts. “You better put your coat in the cart. It’s getting too hot to wear it.”
Emily hated to part with her coat even for a few hours. However, she slowly put it into the handcart. When she had it on, England didn’t seem quite so far away. Wearing it brought back all the treasured memories of home.
Emily thought about the morning Grandmother had given her the coat as she was leaving with her parents for America to join other Latter-day Saints in the faraway Rocky Mountains.
With tears in her eyes, Grandmother said to Emily’s father, “I still don’t understand why you must leave England for your new religion. I know I’ll never see you again.”
Then she took Emily’s hand. “My dear, I have a gift for you,” she said. “It’s a coat made from wool I spun and dyed myself. Wear it always to remind you of me and of your home.”
Slowly the long days went by. Each step took Emily further away from her grandmother and England. Each step took everyone in the handcart company closer to their unknown “Zion” in the mountains. Around the campfires at night they talked of a valley encircled by towering, snow-topped mountains. Emily wondered if anyone else felt as lonely and frightened as she did.
Wagon trains going to Oregon or California sometimes passed the handcart company. One day a man from a wagon train stopped and said to Emily, “My daughter could use a coat like that one you’re wearing. Would you like to sell it?”
Emily thought of what her family could buy with the money, but she shook her head. “No, thank you, sir,” she answered. She felt that selling the coat would not only be giving up something she loved very much but it would cut her last tie with her old home.
The trail the handcarts traveled became rougher. One night around the campfire Captain Ames asked everyone to listen to a special message. “I don’t need to tell you that the trail has become much more difficult and our carts are wearing out,” he announced. “Each family must discard every item that can be spared in order to lighten the loads.”
Many belongings were left beside the trail the next morning. Emily’s heart was heavy when Father said to her, “I think you should leave your heavy red coat behind.”
“Oh, please Father,” she pleaded, “please let me keep it. I’ll carry it or wear it all the time so it won’t take up any room or add any weight to the handcart. Grandmother made the coat especially for me.”
“The weather will grow colder soon,” Mother added. “Maybe we should let Emily keep her coat. I’ll help her carry it if it becomes too heavy.”
Father looked at Emily and her mother. He saw how much the coat meant to both of them. “If you’re willing to carry or wear it, then you may keep the coat,” he said, “but it’s not to go on the handcart. We must obey Captain Ames’ rule to lighten our loads.”
One morning as Emily was walking behind her father she looked up and saw white snow-topped peaks along the western horizon. A few days later the handcart company was making its way through the mountain passes. The wheels on the worn handcarts creaked loudly with each turn. Everyone was weak and tired but they still kept going.
Late one afternoon Emily felt she could not walk any further. Her red coat seemed unusually heavy. Emily thought she couldn’t take another step before resting for just a few minutes.
I’ll just climb up that little slope and rest under a bush for a few minutes, Emily decided.
While resting, Emily watched the line of carts and people toil up a winding, mountain path. She lay down to watch the clouds float by. How good the ground felt to her aching back and legs.
Suddenly Emily sat up. It was dark. She had fallen asleep! Her first thought was to run as fast as she could, calling for her mother and father. But it was too dark to see where she was going.
I must stay calm, Emily told herself. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she prayed, “please keep me safe through the night and tomorrow guide my parents to me.”
Soon a peace flooded over Emily even though the black hours of night passed slowly, slowly. She put on her red coat. Feeling it close around her brought a warmth that was more than just protection against the chill of the night.
Memories of England and Grandmother and her old home were as precious as ever. But there alone on the hillside, Emily began to think more about her new home in a valley where she could be with her father and mother. Maybe Grandmother might come there someday, too, she thought.
As the morning sun lightened the sky, Emily’s sadness and loneliness seemed to leave. She climbed up on a rock to watch the sun come up as she had done so many times. Always before her thoughts had turned with a homesick feeling to the east. Now she looked toward the west. In that direction they would have a new home.
Far in the distance Emily saw several men. As they came closer one of them started waving and then she heard her father call, “It’s Emily. That red coat has brought us right to her!”
Emily ran down the hill. “Oh Father,” she sobbed, “I’m sorry I got lost but I’m glad you found me.”
“We might have not found you,” Father replied, “if it hadn’t been for that red coat. How grateful I am that you kept it and that you had it with you to keep you warm. We spotted it a long time before you saw us.”
“I’m grateful, too,” Emily answered. “It will always be something special to remind me of Grandmother and England. But now I know a home isn’t just a place, and that love is more than just a coat. I can hardly wait until we reach the Valley.”
Father smiled, “We found you,” he said, “but I guess during the night you found yourself, too.” He gave Emily a warm hug.
Without looking back, Emily put the coat over her arm. Then she and Father turned their feet and their eyes to the west.

After we were baptized in 1992, my family did everything together, including attending Sunday meetings, Church conferences, and other activities. But time passed, things changed, and I eventually found myself alone at church—the rest of my family having become less active. Thereafter, whenever I heard someone in church teach about eternal families, my heart ached and a profound sadness overcame me.
In 1995 I decided to receive my patriarchal blessing to learn more of what the Lord expected of me and to receive strength. My blessing contained the following promise: through fasting, prayer, and family home evening, I would have my family “in the gospel.” I constantly prayed and fasted for my family, but I didn’t follow the counsel to hold family home evening.
“If this can happen to families in my mission,” I wondered, “why not to my own family?”
After my mission I was determined to hold family home evening with my family. At first, all participated grudgingly, and I had trouble finishing my lessons as planned. But I knew the Lord wouldn’t counsel me to do something that wouldn’t be a blessing, so I didn’t give up. Eventually, the promise in my patriarchal blessing was fulfilled.
If I didn’t hold family home evening, I heard about it. Family members all participated with opinions, ideas, and counsel, and they listened attentively to the message. Even though we were older then, when game time came, we had a party!
As a result, members of my family once again began obeying commandments they had ignored, and they became more active in the Church.
I can truly say that my home was transformed into a little bit of heaven, thanks to an inspired program that should be a tradition in every home: family home evening.